Tuesday, February 11, 2014

Microreview [book]: Knife-Sworn, book two of the Tower and Knife trilogy, by Mazarkis Williams

Let's talk about the sequel paradox. What is the sequel paradox,
you might ask? It's the catch-22 at the heart of the entire enterprise of
sequel-writing. Requirement one of the sequel paradox is that any sequel must
be similar to, in the sense of being logically consistent with, the original. If,
for example, we have a long-suffering, mostly ordinary protagonist in book (or
movie, or whatever) one but in book two the same protagonist is suddenly a lasers-from-the-eyes
kind of ubermensch, that will certainly jar the audience, as the basic premise
of the original has been violated, as have our expectations—this is true,
incidentally, even if the radically new framework is great.

But requirement two of the sequel paradox is that any sequel
must be noticeably distinct, thematically and otherwise, from the original.
This is necessary mostly for artistic reasons, but also partly just to avoid
the charge of unoriginality or "cashing in" on an earlier book's
success by releasing the same story rehashed. I almost hesitate to give
specific examples, because the evaluation of books or any other kind of popular
culture product is so subjective that someone out there is bound to be
incredulous/apoplectic with fury that I would dare to mention _____ as an
example of a cash-in, but I'll take the plunge anyway (sorry, Molly!). I think Ender's Shadow is the go-to example of a
book that fails to fulfill requirement two; it is a 're-telling' of Card's
original Ender's Game, and despite
its frilly accoutrements, I felt nothing significant had been added—no new
story had been told. This sort of rehashing is utterly unlike the reimagining
of, say, the Battlestar Galactica world, which was so radically unlike the
original that fans (in the entire world, are there seriously more than like
five living fans of the unimpressive original series?) complained it was too different. Starbuck and Boomer are
women? Whaaat? (But of course, it was awesome; if you don't believe me, go
watch the dreary, formulaic original series.)

Obviously, the two requirements are not exactly in harmony
with each other, and consequently, you'll probably agree that only rarely do
sequels manage to equal—and by definition can almost never surpass—the original
work. Books two thru six of the Harry Potter series are examples of sequels
that manage, to a greater or lesser extent depending on a variety of factors (personal
taste, mostly), to fulfill both requirements. They are all very similar in
framework, etc. to the original, but advance certain aspects of a larger story
and represent distinct iterations of the 'schoolyard drama' story.

Now, at last, we can turn to Mazarkis Williams' Knife-Sworn, the sequel to her excellent
The Emperor's Knife (I quite agree
with Jemmy's
assessment of said volume, or if anything think it even better than he did).
Does Williams manage to walk the tight-rope between similarity and originality
in his sequel? The answer, I would suggest, is a qualified 'not exactly.'

To be sure, many of fans' favorite characters and story elements
from book one 'reprise their roles', so to speak, in Knife-Sworn. Sarmin is
back, facing an even greater threat, and he enlists the aid of his unlikely ally
Grada along with many others. The same 'palace intrigue' web of deceit and
shifting alliances reappears to dominate the Emperor's court.

At this point, you're probably expecting me to denounce the
book for failing the originality requirement—being too similar to the original,
in other words—but if anything, Williams leaned too far the other way. Certain
elements present in the first installment of the series, it may be assumed,
will be back, or even enhanced, for the sequel. As I mentioned above, Sarmin is
back, but in book two he lacks the very quality that so dazzled readers in book
one, namely a certain (je ne sais quoi!) pizzazz, that instinctive ability to
unravel problems and ravel (this probably isn't a word, but it definitely
should be!) solutions with his pattern-magic. What good is a brooding
princeling, now emperor, who spends the entire book failing to understand
either the threat he faces, o
r what to do about it?

The key to the sequel tightrope is not to lean too far in
either direction, maintaining balance somewhere in the middle between similarity
and originality. Williams, in my view, departed too far from the original
depiction of Sarmin, making him a less effective character around which to
weave a story.

Lest we end up judging Williams over-harshly, let me say
that he did much better, in this sequel, than most authors can hope to, since
the vast majority of sequels are markedly worse than the first volumes. And
only a tiny handful manage to equal their original effort (as I've mentioned here
before, this is due to many factors, first and foremost the simple fact that many
authors doubtless 'use up' most of their best ideas in their first books, the
ones that establish their reputations and careers, revving their engines so
much on book one that they end up slogging through the sequels on empty). So
Williams is in the relatively rare second-best category, in my opinion: his
sequel is a bit less impressive than his first book, but remains very
entertaining indeed, a worthy if not stunning successor to the magic of book
one. I confess myself worried about book three, however (to be reviewed here
ere long), because of the The Farthest
Shore --> Tehanu kind of
direction, vis-a-vis Sarmin (equivalent to Ged, more or less) Williams seems to
be going. Stay tuned!

The Math

Baseline assessment: 6/10

Bonuses: +1 for making Grada totally awesome

Penalties: -1 for making Sarmin kind of suck

Nerd coefficient: 6/10 "Still enjoyable, but the flaws
are hard to ignore"

This review brought to you by Zhaoyun (that's "Shining
Cloud" for all you hoi polloi who don't know me personally/know Mandarin
Chinese), sf/f book and movie aficionado and main cast member of Nerds of a
Feather since early 2013.